And so, mum died
- Jane
- Jun 15
- 3 min read
May 2026
Yes she finally died.
I’m trying to take it in, to fathom it.
That human being — my mother — with so much goodness inside her, so much love to give, and such deep gratitude for life, is dead.
I was there when she breathed her last breath.
I was holding her hand while talking on the phone to Gil. He was across the road at my place. We were organising a roster so someone could stay with her throughout the night and the coming week. We knew she was dying, but we didn’t know when.
While sitting on the low stool beside her bed, I noticed her face looked almost doll-like, pale and still. She didn’t seem to be breathing.
‘I think she’s dying’ I said to Gil.
Then she took a breath.
A long pause.
Another breath.
Than silence. Nothing.
‘I think she’s dead,’ I said calmly but yet not so calmly. ‘Come and check.’
A few minutes later Gil was there and felt for her pulse.
‘Yes she’s dead.’
Strangely, I felt elated.
My darling, precious, beautiful mother, my mamusha, had breathed her last breath, and I was there with her, holding her hand, kissing her face - her eyes, her cheeks, her forehead.
I felt the privilege of being there alone with her. Just me, quietly savouring her last moments on this earth, our last moments together.
I was happy for her.
She had lived so long. She was tired and weak. She no longer wanted to eat.
This is how she would have wanted to die. To leave peacefully, like this.
Earlier that day she seemed to be floating between this world and another. She was joyous, smiling happily. It felt as though she was seeing her mother— her beloved mamusha. Her hands moved slowly through the air, as if dancing, and she was beaming.
‘Mamusha. Moja Mamusia.’ (My dear mother)
She seemed to be moving with her.
Then she took my hand and kissed it over and over again. And placed it gently on her cheek. Kissing and kissing.
It felt like love. Deep love. Flowing from her to me.
It filled me up, like an infusion of pure compassionate love —life’s love.
Later that afternoon I went home for a nap. When I returned, the staff had given her a sedative because they thought she seemed agitated. I hadn’t seen her agitated, but it didn’t matter. She was dying, and I had already been with her in all her glory.
My mother’s glory.
Marysia Kohn, née Wojdyslawska, Messing.
She loved it when i mentioned the Messing side of her family. Her mother was a Messing — Cecilia Messing. Mum didn’t like her father, Jakob Wojdyslawski. She believed his romantic affairs had caused her mother great pain.
I never quite understood why mum was so upset by her father's affairs, yet could forgive her mother's long-standing love affair.
During the war, almost all mum’s family were murdered. Their lives were cut short. But mum seemed to live on for all of them.
She lived a long beautiful life.
And in the end, she left it surrounded by love.
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